


Halfway Through the Wood

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-13
Updated: 2007-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: While Ron lies in a hospital bed fighting for his life, Hermione waits with family, trying to make the best of the situation. After a conversation with a friend, she realizes the life she has had for over seventy years may never be the same.





	Halfway Through the Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

"If you'll just follow me, Mrs. Weasley," the orderly placed a hand on her arm and began to lead her toward the door, away from the bed where her husband lay. 

 "Can you give me just one more minute?" she asked. She knew her voice was practically pleading with the younger man, but she wasn't ready to leave just yet. 

Things had been so different this morning. As was her habit, she had woken at the break of dawn and began on her morning routine. Ron had joined her a few hours later and they had enjoyed a light breakfast together before she headed out for her morning stroll.  Hermione had always taken comfort in the routine of their daily lives. She didn't miss the rushing and uncertainty of their younger years. While it was true that those years had been wonderful, there was something about what they had now. Something that made life, well, just a little more special. 

It was when she had returned home that things had changed so dramatically. Ron had been lying unconscious on the floor. She quickly grabbed him and Apparated to St. Mungo's. 

But that that had been over five hours ago, and since then there had been no change in his condition. 

She lifted her eyes to meet the orderly's and tried to express how important this was to her. The young man must have understood and nodded briefly, "I'll just let your family know that you will join them in a moment."

"Thank you," she whispered to the orderly's retreating back, before turning back to the still body of her husband.  He looked frail and old lying in that bed. Not the boy full of life that she had first met, nor the man full of vigor and passion that she had loved ever since.  

It shouldn't have been such a shock to her. They had had so many dear friends who passed away in the past few years. One death had been painfully hard on the both of them. But whatever happened around them, they seemed to stay the same, nothing changing. 

She perched herself on the side of the bed and moved her hand up to brush the stark white hair out of his eyes. She smiled, remembering his reaction when she told him that baldness was based on a wizard's mother, not on his father. He had sighed in relief at the thought of keeping all his hair, and secretly she had too. His vibrant red hair had been one of the first things that had drawn her to him. 

As much as she missed his hair colour she thought that the bright whiteness of it now made him look distinguished. She had foolishly mentioned that to him once, only for him to flash his flippant grin, mutter something along the lines of ‘you always did like those poncy Ministry gits,' and drag her out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. 

His breathing was shallow as if he was in a deep sleep. A sleep, she thought, from which he may never wake up. She fought back the tears. There would be time for crying later, right now her family needed her to be strong and her husband would never forgive her if she went to pieces now. 

"You have to get well, do you hear me?" she whispered while stroking his cheek. "I can't do this on my own. I need you here with me, forcing me to do better and to be stronger. You can't leave me yet, do you hear me?" she asked, her voice growing stronger and louder with each word. "You cannot leave me alone. I...I forbid it, you hear me? I forbid it!" 

She had almost expected a response from him to that statement. She imagined him jumping up either laughing or spouting some witty comeback to her comment. His only response, though, was the shallow breathing. 

She leaned down and kissed his lips softly. "I mean it. Don't leave me, Love. I'll be lost without you by my side."

She eased herself off the bed and moved toward the door. Pausing, she looked back at her husband, blissfully sleeping on, not knowing the turmoil he had left her in. 

"I love you," she whispered. Walking down the hall, she made her way to where her family waited.

A sea of faces waited for her as she entered the room. The hospital had offered her a private waiting room, and she had readily accepted. News traveled quickly in the Weasley family and she didn't think that any of her children would stay away. As she entered the room, Harry and her son Ron were quickly by her side, leading her to the most comfortable chair St. Mungo's had to offer. She swatted their hands away and moved to sit on the vinyl couch, where she had left her knitting before. 

"How is he, Hermione?" Harry asked as he moved to sit to the left of her. She noticed he looked tired. He had been here almost as long as she had. Harry had been her first call after she had gotten Ron to the hospital. He had been there in a matter of seconds and had contacted the rest of the family for her. 

She couldn't meet Harry's eyes. He had lost so much over the past year and she couldn't bear to tell him her current fears. 

"No change," she finally responded, picking up her knitting. She knew she needed something else to concentrate on, other than the situation at hand. Counting each stitch would occupy her enough until any news came. 

"Mum," Ron started sitting to the right of her. "Why don't you let me take you home? We won't know anything for sometime yet, and I want you to be..."

"Don't even finish that sentence, Ronald Weasley," she said, her eyes flashing. "I am not leaving here until I know exactly how the procedure went."

"But Mum, we can have you back here in a few hours," Ron tried to reason with her. "We won't know anything for hours anyway. Let us take you to where you'll be comfortable."

She knew his concern and was grateful for it, but at the same time, didn't he see that this was where she needed to be now? 

She was ready to tell him exactly that when Harry joined the conversation. "No, Ron, your mum is right. She needs to stay."

She nodded her thanks to Harry and continued again with her knitting. Though Christmas was still months away, she felt that she would never get the jumpers done. There had been three more great-grand children this year, and she really wondered how many more years she could continue making jumpers for each family member. 

She looked across the room and all five of her boys were here with their spouses. Ron had brought his daughter too, Molly, who was the youngest of the Weasley grandchildren and was on break from her fourth year at Hogwarts.  She felt strengthened to have her family around her; she knew that they were stronger together than apart. She had learned that during the war, when she had watched her family torn apart by pride.

The knitting took her mind off everything else. She concentrated just on the feel of the yarn as it moved through her fingers and counting the number of stitches. She had tried to teach her daughters-in-law to knit, and then her grandchildren, but they seemed to prefer the quicker store-bought clothes. And maybe they were right, maybe this was a waste of time; it hadn't really brought any pleasure to her since she lost her knitting partner and best friend.

Involuntarily, her eyes strayed to Harry. In the past year, he seemed to age before her eyes. True, he wasn't the young boy with jet black hair. He wasn't even the middle-aged man with graying temples and a bit of a stomach, but he had always seemed younger than his true age. When Ginny had died last year, whatever his secret to longevity was, it seemed to die with her. 

He still smiled and joked around with his family and their small group of friends, but it was different now. It was as if he was trying too hard. Laughs seemed forced and his smiles never seemed to reach his eyes. Is that how she would be if she lost Ron?

She shook her head as if the motion would rid her mind of that thought. But her eyes kept straying to where Harry now stood talking with her oldest, Henry, and wondered if his fate was what lay in store for her. 

"Nana?" The voice startled her and she turned and saw Molly standing there looking a little nervous.

"Hello, dear," she said smiling brightly. It was of no use having the child even more upset than she already seemed to be. 

"Nana, I just wanted to let you know that everything is going to be okay. This is Grandpa Ron and nothing can hurt him," she said with the wisdom and confidence that seemed unique to teenagers.

"Of course he is, dear. If there is one thing I've learned about your grandfather, it's that he's a fighter. He won't give up easily and we shouldn't give up on him either," she said with more confidence than she felt. It was true, Ron was a fighter, but this time the battle might just be too much for him.

"Molly, come away from there. What did I tell you about leaving Nana alone?" The voice came from Elizabeth across the room. She could never figure out what her Richard had seen in that woman. True, she was beautiful and efficient, but she always seemed to find her nieces and nephews to be mere annoyances. If there was ever a woman who believed that children should be seen but not heard, it was her daughter-in-law.

"Oh hush, Elizabeth." Hermione said, staring pointedly at her daughter-in-law. "It's been ages since Molly and I had had a chat together. Hasn't it dear?" 

She directed that last comment at Molly and gave her what she hoped was a sweet grandmotherly smile. 

"Well, it has been a long time." Molly replied, but a quick look from her mother confirmed that was the wrong answer. "But Aunt Elizabeth is right, I should go back and work on my homework."

"Pish posh," Hermione said waving her hand. Then leaning towards Molly in a conspiratorial fashion, she added, "You know, there are more important things than homework."

"Did I just hear what I thought I heard?" a voice next to her asked. "Did Hermione Weasley just say there are more important things than homework?" 

She had forgotten Harry was still standing close enough to overhear her conversation with Molly. 

"I think I proved that to you plenty of times during our years at Hogwarts, Harry," she responded.

Harry just grinned and moved to sit next to her. "You would not believe the stories I could tell you about your grandmother at Hogwarts, Molly. Did you know there was one time she actually lied to the headmistress?" 

Molly gasped and Hermione felt herself turning red. It was just like Harry not to tell the whole story. She was about to round on him when she saw Molly look at her for confirmation of Harry's story. 

"Molly, dear. It wasn't exactly like your Uncle Harry is making it out to be," Hermione tried to justify. "You see, it was the year..." but she was unable to finish as Molly cut her off.

"You lied to your headmistress?" Molly questioned, still in shock.

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But there were circumstances that your Uncle Harry didn't seem to..."

But again Hermione was cut off.

"Nana. That. Is. So. Cool!" Molly exclaimed and she threw herself into the seat that her Uncle Ron had vacated. 

She heard Elizabeth _tsk_ from across the room but paid her no mind. Her granddaughter thought she was cool. Hermione felt her face flush with Molly's praise. Ron was always the cool grandparent, while she was always the more practical one.  

"Well, Harry," she said turning to him. "Would you like to explain to my granddaughter why I lied to Umbridge," _the fat cow_ , she added in her mind, "or are you leaving that to me?"

Harry then launched into to an overdramatic telling of what he deemed to be the finest acting ever performed at Hogwarts. She pretended to ignore him as she continued her knitting, but she couldn't help but notice the glint of pride in Molly's eyes.

Before she knew it, close to an hour had passed and Harry had moved on to other stories from their Hogwarts years, and a few from her early married life. Not only did he have Molly sitting at riveted attention, but the entire family, even Elizabeth, had gathered to hear Harry's stories.

"Have I ever told you about that time your Mum sent a flock of canaries after your Dad?" Harry's question snapped Hermione to attention. 

"We don't need to hear that story, Harry," she insisted, setting aside her knitting. 

Her family seemed disheartened that they would not get to hear that particular moment in their parents' lives, but there are some things that children should never know about their parents. She was entitled to her few secrets still, wasn't she?

"You're right," Harry said nodding in agreement with her. But then added with a mischievous smile, "But, if there's a Pensieve nearby you can all see it!" 

Her boys sprung to action, as if searching the room they were in would produce a Pensieve, much to the amusement of their wives and Molly.

Hermione just shook her head and turned to her granddaughter. "So Molly, what homework did you bring with you tonight?"

‘Only Muggle Studies," Molly said dismissively. 

"You know, your great-grandparents were Muggles," Hermione said defensively. She had tried to raise her children with knowledge of both wizarding and Muggle worlds, but the older they had gotten the harder it had become. She had encouraged them all to take Muggle Studies, so they would be comfortable in both worlds. She knew that tradition had continued, so she was shocked at Molly's apparent feelings towards the subject.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, Nana," Molly added hurriedly. "It's just that Professor Callaghan has us reading some plays by Shakespeare, and I really don't understand what they mean."

Hermione nodded. She remembered her first encounter with Shakespeare herself and understood why Molly was having such a hard time with the class. 

"What play are you reading?" Hermione asked gently, hoping to convey to Molly she wasn't angry.

" _As You Like It_." 

"Ah, one of my favorites." Hermione smiled. "There was one passage in particular I loved: ‘No, faith; die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year though Hero had turned nun if it had not been for a hot midsummer night, for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies. Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.'"

"See that's just it," Molly huffed in frustration. "I don't understand anything you just said."

"Well, Rosalind is explaining to Orlando that men die of many things, but they have never died because a woman didn't love them."

"Well, why couldn't she have just said that then?" Molly asked exasperated, reminding Hermione very much of Ron. 

"I don't know," Hermione answered, laughing just a little. "That would have made it a lot easier, wouldn't it?"

Molly nodded her agreement. "Look Molly, why don't you go get your book and we'll read it together."

"Do you mean it, Nana?" she asked, her eyes brightening. 

"Of course. Now, scoot."

Hermione smiled as she watched her granddaughter run towards her bag and rifle for her book.

Hermione was reaching to put her knitting away, when Elizabeth sat next to her. 

"Well, Hermione, you seem to be coping beautifully with the situation." 

Situation? Elizabeth could not be referring to Ron's condition, could she? Elizabeth had said a lot of things to Hermione during the forty years she had been married to Richard. But surely she would be civil today. Mustering up all the politeness she could, Hermione smiled sweetly at Elizabeth. 

"I'm sorry, dear. I'm not following what you mean."

Elizabeth seemed to have that same fake smile on her face as Hermione had on her own. Hermione briefly wondered if this is how her mother-in-law had felt about Fleur those first few years. 

"Well, I just mean to say that if it was Richard fighting for his life, you wouldn't find me laughing with family and helping with homework."

Hermione was too stunned to respond. She wasn't sure if she had heard right. But Elizabeth continued, "Of course, you and Ron have had so much time together. Over seventy years, isn't that right?"

Hermione was furious. How dare this woman try to tell her she wasn't feeling enough for Ron? How dare she presume to even know how Hermione felt right now? Couldn't she tell that not knowing what was happening with Ron, was tearing her up inside? Hadn't Elizabeth noticed she had refused the offer to be taken home? 

Rising from where she sat, she saw Elizabeth rising with her, seemingly in shock for eliciting this response from her mother-in-law. 

"It doesn't matter how long it has been.  It will never be enough." She turned to Molly and looked at her apologetically. "Can we wait for a bit before we start reading together?" she asked. 

Molly nodded, and Hermione could see the confusion on her face. "Harry," she called, "I could use a cup of tea. Would you like to join me in the tearoom?"

And she walked out of the room leaving a stunned family behind her. 

"That was some display back there, Hermione. What in the world did Elizabeth say to you this time?" Harry asked after they had settled in to their table and ordered. "When I left, the boys had all rounded on her and she was insisting she had done nothing."

"She's an odious woman, Harry. The sheer audacity of it all," Hermione whispered ferociously. "I should have forbidden Richard from marrying her when I had the chance. The Weasleys have always been too low for her tastes."

"Hermione," Harry warned.

"Harry, she had the nerve to suggest that Ron and I had had enough time together."

Harry seemed shocked by that statement, but she continued. "Then she went on to presume to tell me how I should act in this situation. She doesn't know how she would act. I didn't know how I would act until today. How dare she tell me that I am not feeling enough? As if I would show her my feelings." 

They were interrupted by the arrival of their tea, and after adding lemon Hermione took a sip, hoping to calm her nerves. She had a slight twinge of regret for leaving they way she did, especially for leaving Molly, but she couldn't have stayed in the same room with Elizabeth for one second longer. 

"Okay Hermione, it's just you and me now," Harry said cleaning his glasses. Finishing with that task and replacing them he continued, "I want the truth. How are you doing?"

She started to assure him that she was fine, handling the situation the best that could be expected, but he held up a hand stopping her response.

"I mean it, Hermione," Harry said, a grin bringing a little light to his worried and haggard appearance. "I've known you for too many years for you to lie to me."

"So I guess now wouldn't be the time to tell you that Ron and I have been lying to you for years, would it?" she retorted. She would show him were still some things that he shouldn't assume, even after eighty years of friendship.

"What?" he sputtered, surprise evident on his face. Hermione tried not to let a smile escape as she watched Harry fumbling for the words to ask the next question. "You...Ron...impossible. There is no way, no way I tell you, that you two would have kept anything from me." 

As if he had assured himself of this fact, he took another sip of the Earl Gray in front of him. Ah, this will make it all the sweeter.

"Not only have we been lying to you, Harry," she added, while casually flipping through the copy of _Witch Weekly_ that was lying on the table. "But we have been lying to you for over sixty years now."

Harry reacted exactly as she had anticipated and she barely got the magazine up in front of her face, before it was covered in the tea that moments before had been in Harry's mouth.

"Sixty years!" he practically shouted. Hermione could barely contain her laughter as she lowered the magazine and watched Harry's face go from confused, to angry, and then settle back at confusion.

"Hermione, there is no way. No way on God's green Earth that you and Ron could keep anything from me that long," he said, as if he was trying to convince himself of that truth more than her. 

"Oh, it wasn't just us," she smiled, finally playing her ace. "Ginny helped too."

"What? Gin too?" Harry asked, putting his head in his hands, finally conceding that she was telling the truth.

"Well, it was for your own good, Harry," Hermione said, in the most proper tone she could muster through her amusement.

"For my own good?" he asked again, confused. She could see the wheels starting to turn in his head, and she wondered if he would figure out what the lie had been on his own, or if she would finally have to break the silence she, Ron and Ginny had agreed to sixty years ago. 

Deciding the on the latter she reached for the teapot and poured him a fresh cup. "Now, no use unsettling yourself about this, Harry. It was nothing, really."

"Nothing? Unsettling? Hermione, I just found out that the three people that I trusted the most have lied to me for...well, for over half my life, and you say that it was nothing?" 

She began to feel bad about the little diversion tactic that she had used. People weren't just staring at them now. They were gaping. Hermione shook her head. All she needed was for Harry to have a heart attack while her husband was fighting for his life three floors below her. 

"Harry, please calm down. I don't need someone else I love in a hospital bed," she said, her tone harsher than she'd planned.

Her words seemed to settle him, as if she reminded him where they were and why they were there. 

"Look, Harry," she continued, "it really is nothing." He looked at her as if she was a stranger and not his best friend for over eight decades. 

"You know that treacle tart you like to make?" Hermione said, blushing a little as she was finally reveling her secret. 

"Yeah," Harry answered slowly. She could tell that he was confused about what treacle tart had to do with anything. 

"Well, I'm not quite sure how to say this, but Harry, it's...well...you see, the thing is...it's not like we..." Now that he had forced her hand, she wasn't quite sure that she wanted to tell him. 

"Just tell me, Hermione." 

"Well, it's horrible, Harry," she finally blurted out.  At his look of disbelief, she added, "Hagrid's rock cakes horrible."

Instead of being upset or angry as she had expected, he started to laugh. "Oh, you had me going there for a second, Hermione! I almost believed you."

"Harry," she said solemnly, "I'm telling you the truth." 

He sobered instantly, "But you all always cleaned your plates. Hell," he added as if remembering something, "Ron even asked for seconds."

 "Well," Hermione said, a sheepish grin breaking across her face, "you were so proud, and we didn't want to make you feel bad. We had no idea you would make it every week after that."

He shook his head, "But Hermione, your plates were always empty. If you didn't eat it where did it go?" he questioned.

" _Evanesco_ ," she mumbled into her hand.

"What?"

"We used _Evanesco_ on that horrid stuff, Harry." 

He stared at her blankly, as if trying to process everything that she had just told him. She wondered if he had heard her answer. Worried, she moved her chair next to him. Now that she was closer, she could tell that he was shaking. Concern welled through her and she reached for his hand, "Harry?" she ventured, hoping to elicit a response from him.

His shaking deepened and she was afraid of what was happening. She was about to call for someone to help when he stopped her. 

"Don't, Hermione," he said, grasping her hand tighter. 

"I'm fine," he added, finally looking at her. And she could tell he was shaking with laughter. "I just wish..." he started trying to talk through his laughter, "I just wish you would have told me before."

Now it was Hermione's turn to be shocked, "What?" 

Harry just continued laughing and shaking his head. She was worried that the stress of the past year now topped with Ron in the hospital had coupled to send him over the edge. 

"Harry, honestly, are you okay?" Hermione whispered. Her voice edged with concern and slight panic. 

"I hated it too, Hermione. Why do you think that I never ate any after that first night?"

"You never...what?" She was gobsmacked. "Are you trying to tell me, Potter, that you knew that stuff tasted like...like a load of shite?"

"Hermione Weasley, watch your language," Harry said, trying to curb his features into his most stern look but failing miserably.

Hermione had to smile at this. "I am over ninety, Harry. I will do as I please."

"Well, with Ron not around, someone had to say it." His mention of her husband's name immediately grounded her and the reality of the situation struck her with stunning force. 

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione. I'm sorry...I didn't think...I'm...I'm so sorry." Harry rushed to add, realising the effect his words had had on her. 

She held his gaze, as if she was searching for something. Something in his eyes that would tell her it would all be okay. But she didn't find it. His eyes held the same resignation that they had last year when Ginny was in the hospital. And that look became her undoing. For the first time since she had set foot inside St. Mungo's today, she felt the tears well in her eyes. 

Harry reached out his hand and placed it on her arm. That was the only permission she needed. In the next moment she was gathered into Harry's arms and letting her tears fall. His reassuring words, "It's okay to cry, Love. You don't have to be strong around me," only reminded her of a similar situation from a lifetime ago, as she sat on the grounds of Hogwarts, being held by another. 

She had told Ron that day she would always be strong as long as he was beside her. But now he was backing out of that promise and she felt like a lost little girl, not the matriarch of a large family.  

Harry continued to hold her, rocking slightly. What a picture the two of them must make, she thought. Two withered old war heroes crying in the middle of St. Mungo's tearoom. She knew this would be front-page news tomorrow, but she didn't care, as long as the caption underneath mentioned that Ron was on his way to a full recovery. 

Trying to reign in her emotions, Hermione pulled away from Harry's embrace and gratefully accepted the handkerchief he offered her.

"I am glad Gin was able to teach you something, Harry," she said, dabbing at her eyes and trying to keep make her voice sound playful. "After all these years I still can't get Ron to carry..."

But she couldn't finish that sentence as the memories flooded through her and her tears began to fall again. Would she see him puttering around with the grandchildren's broomsticks again? Would she ever catch him trying to find where she had stowed away the chocolate frogs she kept on hand for the neighborhood children? She didn't know how to live without him. He had always been there. He had always been part of her. 

She had told Molly just a short time ago that men didn't die from heartbreak, but she wondered if it was possible for a woman to do just that.  

 

As if reading her thoughts, Harry took her hand in both of his. "You will be okay, Hermione," he said, the emotion thick in his voice, "you will make it through this, no matter what the outcome."

Shaking her head, she looked at him again, no longer caring that tears were making a steady stream down her face. 

"The thing is, Harry, I don't think I will. He has been with me every step on my path. If he dies..." she caught herself on that word, but then forced herself to press onward, "all that is life to me will die with him."

She knew that her words probably shocked Harry, and frankly they surprised her. But something deep within her told her that without Ron, everything in life would become bleaker. 

"Well, we won't even have to worry about that, will we?" Harry asked, trying to look on the bright side of things. "He wouldn't dare leave you, would he?" 

Before she could answer though, she saw Henry running towards her at a breakneck speed. "What is it?" she asked, rising shakily, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

"It's something about Dad, Mum. The healer is insistent that he only speaks to you. He wouldn't even tell me what it is about." 

_This is it_ , she thought. This was the moment in which her life now hung. And meeting this moment, like she had any other in her life, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and walked tall to meet her fate. 


End file.
